More Salt Than Pepper

by Karan Thapar

  But let me quickly add it won’t happen immediately and possibly not for several years. And it’s what happens in the interregnum that will be critical to her candidature and its success. So now, lured no doubt by my own impetuosity, let me elaborate.

  My hunch is we are going to see a messy outcome of the present elections. Whether it’s a third or fourth front government, or one that includes or is even led by the Congress or the BJP, it will be weak, short-lived and unable to tackle the economic, political or national security challenges we face.

  However, the term khichdi falls short of fully describing this experience. Khichdi is usually light and easy to digest. This government will prove hard to accept and difficult to swallow. And the pain of endurance will determine the outcome of the next election. That could be as early as 2011.

  My guess is that at that point India will vote for a strong alternative led by a personality that has a national appeal and can command attention. And if at that stage the Congress is fronted by Rahul Gandhi and the BJP by Narendra Modi, then the latter fits the bill.

  Secondly, the process that brings Modi to power will fracture or shatter the NDA. This means Modi will either have an outright BJP majority or, at most, be dependent on the Shiv Sena and Akali Dal. And I’d say his government will probably serve its full term.

  So it’s seven years down the road that Priyanka Gandhi will step on to the political stage. It will be the shock of the Modi victory – and, perhaps, revulsion against the man, his policies and their outcome – that will overcome both her philosophical distaste for politics as well as her emotional reluctance to replace her brother.

  Convincing Priyanka won’t be easy and it won’t happen quickly. In fact, she’ll have to convince herself – by living through Modi’s India, by wrestling with her doubts and inhibitions and by accepting, but perhaps never admitting, that Rahul, the brother she adores, cannot restore Congress fortunes or India’s self-image and self-respect. She’ll have to convince herself that her party and her country need her.

  And now, why do I believe if Priyanka steps into politics she could end up as prime minister? Because she has a magical spark that makes her compelling. It’s a combination of charm, charisma, presence, appearance and intelligence. You see it on television, you sense it in her interviews and, if my colleagues are correct, it captivates the audiences she speaks to.

  She has one further quality, which is particularly rare. She understands herself and is comfortable with who she is. It’s a sort of Buddhist self-awareness and it’s reassuring to encounter. It makes you want to believe in her. Yet this is why she will struggle and agonize over becoming a politician but, when she does, this is also why she will rise to the top.

  Pause now and ask how many ‘ifs’ have to be happen for my prophecy to be fulfilled? I’d say three: an unpalatable khichdi at this elections, a Modi ‘majority’ at the next and a widespread acceptance of the Priyanka phenomenon in the interim.

  The irony is that it could turn out like the disputed Modi comment of 2002 – Priyanka Gandhi will be the equal and opposite ‘reaction’ to his own coming to power!

  5 May 2009

  The Untold Advani Story

  Perhaps this is self-indulgence, but I’m going to elaborate on a little footnote in history. Now that L.K. Advani has mentioned it in his memoirs and spoken of it in interviews, I feel I can tell the full story. LKA was not ‘the hidden hand’ that sabotaged the Agra Summit of 2001. He was its architect. How do I know? I helped set it up although I wasn’t ‘the intermediary’ Advani generously calls me.

  The story goes back to 1998. At the time Ashraf Qazi was Pakistan’s high commissioner and a close friend. Eager to establish a personal rapport with the NDA government he asked if I would help. George Fernandes was my initial choice and I set up a few meetings, usually over quiet dinners at my home. They worked magnificently. Fernandes and Qazi became friends and learnt to trust each other.

  ‘I’d like to meet Mr Advani,’ Ashraf announced one day in early 2000. George Fernandes arranged the meeting and I was asked to drive Ashraf to Advani’s Pandara Road residence. It was fixed for 10 p.m. No one else was informed.

  Ashraf had no idea how long the meeting would last. ‘Don’t go far,’ he warned. ‘I’ll ring your mobile as soon as its over.’ I sat outside in the car expecting him in half an hour. He stayed ninety minutes.

  Over the next year there were perhaps twenty such clandestine meetings. The vast majority were at night. I was the chauffeur and the guards at Pandara Road were only given my name. Soon a routine was established. The two As would disappear into Advani’s study. I would sit with Mrs Advani and Pratibha. When their conversation was over they’d join us for a cup of tea.

  The only person who stumbled upon this – but I don’t think he worked it out – was Sudheendhra Kulkarni. In those days he was Vajpayee’s speech writer. His association with Advani was yet to begin. At the very first meeting he walked in, unannounced, to deliver papers but fortunately didn’t stay. Two weeks later, when the second meeting was underway and I’d parked under a streetlight in Khan Market, Sudheendhra, emerging from a Chinese restaurant, recognized me.

  ‘I’m a little early to collect a friend who’s dining at the Ambassador,’ I lied. ‘So I thought I’d wait here.’ Amazingly, Sudheendhra believed this but thereafter Pratibha insisted I wait with them.

  Late in May 2001 India announced it had invited Musharraf. At 6.30 the next morning Advani rang. I was asleep. ‘I’m sorry for calling so early but I want you to tell our common friend that he shares the credit for this development. Our meetings were a big help.’

  Their last meeting was during the Musharraf visit. It happened after the Rashtrapati Bhawan banquet, close to 11 p.m. Ashraf rapidly changed from his achkan into casual clothes so no one would recognize him. Advani still had on the grey trousers of his bandgala suit. Agra was the next morning. There was hope in the air.

  In the end the summit failed. Ashraf ’s and Advani’s best efforts were in vain but the bond they formed did not snap. There were two further memorable meetings. The day after the attack on Parliament, at the Pioneer’s 10th anniversary dinner, Mrs Advani insisted Ashraf meet her husband. He was hesitant to do so. He felt it would be embarrassing. But when he did, Advani grasped his hand and greeted him warmly. ‘What an amazing man,’ Ashraf said afterwards.

  Six months later, after the terrorist attack at Kaluchak, Ashraf was asked to leave. The government gave him a week. On his penultimate evening the Advanis invited him for a personal farewell. It was my last duty as chauffeur.

  Neither Ashraf nor Advani were embarrassed by the circumstances. They took it in their stride. Events had worked out very differently to their intentions but they had done their best. When it was time to leave Ashraf started to shake hands.

  ‘Galle lago,’ Mrs Advani intervened. She ensured the two embraced. Tears welled up in Advani’s eyes.

  25 March 2008

  The Importance of Charm

  It was a casual conversation with the prime minister but it made me realize the importance of charm. Whatever else he may be, he’s a very charming man. Sadly, that’s not a quality I can readily detect in the rest of my countrymen. Most of us mistake it for weakness. Instead we cultivate the gruff exterior.

  Mr Vajpayee and I met in the middle of the imposing Ashoka Hall of Rashtrapati Bhawan. I was standing near the entrance chatting with James Lyngdoh and Ajay Vikram Singh. The prime minister entered from the other side and started to slowly walk across. We stood and watched. When he was some twenty feet away I thought I saw him gesturing at me. He used his eyes and his smile to do so. It was a knowing look – in part a conspiratorial nod and wink but also an ah-there-you-are act of detection.

  I moved forward. But as soon as I did the PM looked away leaving me feeling very foolish. Had I made a mistake? Perhaps. So I returned to the group I had just left. They smiled generously to put me at my ease.

  ‘Arre kya hua?’

/>   It was Mr Vajpayee. He was looking straight at me and smiling. His eyes were twinkling. So this time I scampered across. I felt as if I was behaving like a schoolboy. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else thought so too.

  ‘Aap aa rahey the phir ruk gaye. Kya hua?’

  The PM grasped my proffered hand in both of his and held on to it. That’s how we stood for the duration of our conversation.

  ‘Mein sharma gaya.’

  I had spoken before I realized what I was saying. I wanted to withdraw my words but it was too late. Of course, it was the truth but it sounded gauche.

  ‘Aaah,’ the PM replied, his eyes growing bigger and brighter. ‘To sharmate bhi ho!’

  Honestly, I did not know what to say. The PM realized this and seemed to enjoy my predicament. He waited for me to speak. Meanwhile, his smile got bigger.

  ‘My mother,’ I blurted out, ‘is a great admirer of yours.’

  ‘To bete mein kya kammi reh gayi?’

  By now the smile had covered his full face. He knew he was being mischievous but he was enjoying every second of it. For my part I felt more foolish than ever before. Alas that also meant I continued to speak without thinking.

  ‘When Mummy reads something I’ve written about you she usually calls me a bloody fool.’

  I knew at once I was inviting another riposte and the PM was not slow to grasp the bait I offered. This time he laughed as he spoke.

  ‘Ma galat nahin!’

  I must have blushed deeply because he raised his left hand to my shoulder whilst still holding on to my hand with his right. It was meant to be avuncular and that’s certainly how it felt.

  ‘Mein aapko dekhta rehta hoon.’

  He said no more but I felt his eyes said the rest. He rolled them upwards and shook his head from side to side. I interpreted this as a sign of appreciation. Or was it a gentle dismissal? Either way it was a friendly gesture.

  Our little chat couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes. Maybe less. But the impression it left behind was indelible. I am and remain a critic of Mr Vajpayee but his charm is irresistible. No one – not even his most ferocious enemies – could deny that.

  But why are the rest of us so ‘un-charming’? Do we not realize how much difference a little polite flattery, a gentle joke, a pleasant aside can make? Maybe we are not equally witty, and no doubt only a few are blessed with the presence of mind to think of clever things to say, but all it requires to be charming is to be nice and to let it show. Surely, that’s not so difficult?

  I grant that it’s easier to be charming when one is powerful and important. In the rest of us that could be mistaken for grovelling. But then why are those who exercise influence and authority so often awkward and abrupt? Are they rude or indifferent? Or do they simply not know better?

  I’m sure each of you has your own answer to this question. But let me leave you with mine. Most of us don’t know how to be charming – and very few of us realize what an enormous difference it can make – because few people, if any, have been charming to us. We treat others as we have been treated in turn. That’s the real problem.

  6 October 2003

  Go, Mr Modi, and Go Now

  I thought I knew Narendra Modi. Not so long ago I respected him and was grateful for his advice. In 2000, when I was preparing for an interview with the RSS Sarsangchalak, he helped me understand the organization and opened my eyes to its weaknesses. With perfect impartiality he made me aware of the damning mediocrity that has come to characterize its functioning.

  ‘Question Sudarshanji about the RSS’s loss of relevance. No longer does it stand for excellence. Today it’s mediocre in everything it does.’ That’s how he started the discussion.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I questioned. This was the last thing I expected to hear. After all, Modi is an RSS pracharak. I had sought him out as a defender of the Sangh, not as a critic.

  ‘The RSS runs 20,000 schools and fifty papers. But none of these has achieved any measure of national distinction. The RSS is dedicated to social work but Sai Baba, the Radha Soami sect and Panduran Athavale’s Swadhya Group have bigger names in this field. The RSS doesn’t count.’

  I was stunned. Not simply because Mr Modi was being critical. More because he was offering a line of attack that came from within the RSS. This was not the traditional and hackneyed left critique. It was the searing disillusionment of the right. It was new. It was different.

  ‘Ask him about the attendance at RSS shakhas,’ Modi continued. I could sense his enthusiasm. He was behaving like a journalist. I liked that. More importantly, I admired his honesty and was grateful for his advice.

  ‘Just look at Kerala. The biggest RSS unit is there but its impact is minimal. Instead, everything the RSS dislikes is thriving. The communists, the church and an economy that is dependent on foreign, not swadeshi, funds. That’s how irrelevant the RSS has become.’

  ‘Ask Sudarshanji about all of this and you will touch on issues that matter to people like me. It will be a fantastic interview.’

  I had intended to follow this advice. But foolishly I started the interview on a more conventional tack. We spoke about the RSS’s commitment to a Hindu Rashtra, the Constitution, the BJP’s alliances and the Vajpayee government’s performance. Then we ran out of time. Mr Modi’s questions got squeezed out.

  Even though many praised the interview and the press were kind to it I knew it could have been better. It ought to have been different. It might even have been original. Had I found a way of incorporating Mr Modi’s questions it would have been.

  At the time I thought of Narendra Modi as a man who had the strength to question, the courage to challenge and the objectivity and generosity to share his sentiments across political divides. I can’t pretend I knew much more about him. I certainly did not get to know him well. But I felt I did not need to. I liked – in fact, I admired – what I had seen. That was enough.

  Sadly it seems I was mistaken. No, that’s not quite right. It’s not being fully honest. The word ‘seems’ suggests a doubt or hesitation that is misplaced. The word ‘mistaken’ feels euphemistic. The truth is I was horribly wrong.

  The image of Narendra Modi that emerges from his handling of the communal carnage in Gujarat is completely different. The ‘other’ Modi is narrow-minded, sectarian, mean-spirited and a prisoner of his limitations.

  I can accept that his inexperience, maybe even his foolish personal pride, was the reason why the army was not called out earlier. Perhaps he thought he could handle the situation differently yet still effectively, show toughness but also a measure of understanding. After all, it’s not easy to crack down on your own constituents, on those who share your beliefs. Even if tragic, such mistakes are human. They happen often enough.

  But when he claims that for every action there will be a reaction, when he attempts to explain the murder of Ehsan Jaffri by alluding to the fact the mob was fired upon and when he finds grounds for paying the victims of Godhara double the amount paid to those who died in Ahmedabad he reveals himself as a moral dwarf. To value a Hindu life more than a Muslim one or talk of mass murder as if it was somehow explicable is not just beyond comprehension – it’s hateful.

  The man I thought I knew was a leader. He had the spirit and the wisdom to rise above narrow confines, to turn opponents into friends, to win admiration from journalists, to guide and be followed. The man I discovered last week is a mere creature – of prejudice, of petty vengeance, of double standards and forked- tongued utterances.

  The first Mr Modi deserved to be chief minister. The second deserves to be sacked.

  11 March 2002

  Why I Respect Ram

  Although I can’t be certain I think I first met Ram Jethmalani in 1992. It was the run-up to the presidential elections and he was a candidate. S.D. Sharma and G.G. Swell were the other two. No one took him seriously but then Sharma and Swell were not willing to give interviews. That was Jethmalani’s big advantage. He was accessible, likeable a
nd whatever he said made news.

  In those days I was executive producer of Eyewitness. It was a video magazine although we pretended it was the same as TV. We were better than Newstrack but, sadly, not as well known.

  I invited Ram to be interviewed and he accepted. It was a wild monsoon morning when he drove into Kamani for the recording. Our set was on the auditorium stage and although we occupied only a small portion of the theatre the ambience lent the event a sense of occasion.

  Ram came in a Tata Sierra with a big burly sardar driver for companion. The man’s loyalty to Ram was as striking as it was surprising. I had not realized that Ram’s defence of Kehar Singh had so deeply affected the Sikh community. I was soon to discover that there was a lot more about Ram I did not know.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Jethmalani,’ I began the interview in my best inquisitorial style. ‘Why do you think you would make a good president?’

  I don’t remember his answer at least partly because I wasn’t listening. I was preparing myself for the follow-up question. It was supposed to be the coup de grace.

  ‘Why should the country want a bigamist as head of state?’

  I was thirty-six and far from being embarrassed by my lack of finesse, I was perversely proud of it. I mistook bluntness for boldness, rudeness for vigour and courage.

  I’ll never forget his reply. It was unhesitating, honest and brilliantly focussed.

  ‘That’s a smart question but not a clever one,’ he said. ‘It’s true I have two wives but both my marriages happened before the Hindu Code Bill was passed.’

  ‘So?’ I said, but only because I had to say something. In all honesty I had not thought beyond my question. Smart alecs never do. Ram’s quick-witted candour had floored me.

  ‘I treat both my wives better than most men treat their only wife,’ Ram added. ‘So what’s the point you’re trying to make?’